


Pay the Man

by itsallaboutflowermetaphors



Category: Girls (TV), Peter Rabbit (2018), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering (brief mention), Assisted Masturbation, Be a and Thomas are still friends, Building trust, Camboy!Adam, Camming, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Characters, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Mutual Masturbation, Now for the stuff in future chapters:, Other customers being dicks, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Separation Anxiety, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Trust Issues (because of past relationships), discussion of past relationships, long distance, mentions and discussion of (past) alcohol addiction, past relationship stuff is all about Adam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutflowermetaphors/pseuds/itsallaboutflowermetaphors
Summary: When his acting career doesn't take off, Adam Sackler struggles to make ends meet. He decides to cam. Meanwhile Thomas McGregor's toy store becomes more and more successful but it puts a strain on his relationship with Bea. After they split up Thomas gets incredibly lonely; doubting his people skills, he turns to camboys. One in particular catches his eye (and heart).(Peter Rabbit took place in this universe, the plot of Girls cuts off during season 2, episode 10 before he gets back together with Hannah. Fic starts approx. six months after both.)





	Pay the Man

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to my artist Romi! [her tumblr is remus-sirius](http://remus-sirius.tumblr.com)  
> She made gorgeous art for this fic and was a joy to work with. <3  
> I'm aiming for 4 chapters.  
> Title is from Pay the Man by Foster the People (Who would have guessed?).  
> There's also [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/_rain/playlist/3V7SazWz5bqvuzEt8bAHc5) I made on Spotify.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated chapter 1 to a beta read one on October 16th. Big thank you to my lovely beta Ash_Gunnywolf

Working at McGregor’s was exhausting—satisfying, but exhausting—so at the end of the day Thomas McGregor was glad to leave his store in Camden and step into the crisp autumn air before taking the tube to his flat in Shepherd’s Bush. He quickly took the stairs up to his flat and unlocked his door. 

To tell the truth, Thomas wasn’t able to relax until he was within his own four walls; slipping out of his coat, he let his shoulders drop. The coat was put on its spot on the coat rack (on a hanger of course), and he slipped out of his shoes, placing them on the shoe rack underneath his coats, straightening them in the process. He then ventured further into the flat in socks; in the kitchen he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the gas stove before pulling a mug from a cabinet. The kitchen was spotless: dark floor tiles and shiny white cabinets with granite countertops. Thomas had hand-picked them when moving into the flat. The room, as well as the entire flat, looked barely lived in, more like a show room in a fancy furniture store, but Thomas told himself it was just spotless and minimalist. He left the kitchen to change out of his work suit. 

After McGregor’s became more successful, expanded colorful checkered button-down shirts felt too casual, and he had returned to full suits. Bea had had a good laugh about it. He hung the suit jacket and trousers on hangers by the closet and discarded the shirt and undershirt in the hamper in the bathroom. While he was there, he relieved himself, too.   
His pyjamas waited under the folded covers of his bed, soft checked trousers with drawstrings in shades of green and an olive long sleeved t-shirt.   
Just as Thomas tied the drawstrings, the kettle whistled and he made his way back to remove it from the stove and prepare his evening tea, a mild chamomile; he preferred black or green tea, but caffeine in the evening disagreed with him. 

With the cup in hand, Thomas retired to his bedroom, placing it on the nightstand before retrieving his laptop. While the laptop booted up, Thomas got a small towel from the linen closet. Doing what he was about to do anywhere but the bed felt wrong, but he didn’t want to soil the sheets. 

The ritual started sometime after he had moved into the new flat, the break-up from Bea too fresh to start dating again but his body’s urges too strong to ignore. Pornography and masturabating helped him unwind before sleep. An ad first lured him onto the soft pink camming website, and he stayed because interacting with the sex workers felt more satisfying than jacking off to videos. He slipped into bed, and when he opened the website in an incognito tab and logged in, an unusual banner greeted him. 

‘Meet ADAM’, it read next to the cropped photograph of a men’s torso. He was muscular, with impressive biceps, pecs, and a hint of a six pack. Moles smattered his skin and a faint happy trail of dark hair led down to his low-slung sweats. Thomas was intrigued: most people on the site displayed their pretty faces or their genitalia in their icons. Adam’s showed neither.   
He clicked the banner, and the website displayed a new page, a chat window on the left and a video display on the right. Currently, the video screen was still black with white letters proclaiming ‘User will be online in 2:00 minutes’.

He could click away, Thomas told himself, find the show of someone he had watched before and not risk an unsatisfactory wank. He had watched plenty of people in the past months, someone he liked ought to be online. He didn’t need to wait for Adam to come online. 

Yet, he did. 

Watching the countdown tick, Thomas repositioned the laptop, took a few sips from his tea, and shifted nervously, trying to find a more comfortable position. New models tended to make him nervous.

His musing was interrupted when the countdown disappeared and a room came into focus on the screen. A man—Adam, his brain supplied—sat on a double bed, in the background Thomas could make out a beige wall, a wooden headboard and a few sad-looking white pillows. Adam was sitting on white sheets.

“Hello,” Adam greeted with the wave of a hand. He was wearing a black muscle shirt and very short blue basketball shorts, but Thomas’ attention was drawn to his face. It was unusual, all angles and still soft. Adam had a big nose and kind dark eyes, his plush lips were stretched into a grin, showing a hint of crooked teeth, his chin was sharp, and he had a moustache and goatee. His dark hair was long, brushing against his shoulders as he moved. 

“So, it turns out the website promoted me, the chat might be more busy, sorry if I don’t see stuff,” Adam said, his voice a deep rumble. An American accent too, Thomas noted.   
In the chat, the first people were demanding that Adam lose his shirt. Somehow, the man laughed about this, reached behind his head for the back of his shirt, and pulled it off. Thomas gasped, seeing Adam’s muscled chest in motion was different from seeing it in a photograph. His movements were fluent, making his muscles ripple. Adam started to slowly rock back and forth. His folded legs were spread, hands braced between them: the position made his pecs press against each other and his upper arms, squishing them slightly. 

“I’ll lose the pants when we hit the goal,” Adam murmured, his head angled down and eyes catching the camera. He was biting his bottom lip, but somehow it didn’t look cliché.  
Instead, Adam only looked hot, his muscles moving under the skin, his body gently rocking the mattress. Thomas was captivated. Adam was truly a specimen: he looked natural, not like he was trying to look his best or make it pretty. He was still slowly rutting while answering question from the chat. “I told you,” he said in a low voice, “I’ll take the shorts off when we hit the goal.” He seemed amused. Thomas glanced down at the goal pop-up. It was reasonable, perhaps even a bit low, so he quickly donated tokens, the value equal to a few pounds. He knew the token system, like every other of its kind, was designed in a way that made most people donate more. Cryptocurrencies encouraged a different buying behaviour because they felt less like money than, well, real money. He was lucky because the America-based website worked in his favour, 10 tokens equaling to almost exactly a Pound Sterling while Americans were forced to do some mental maths. He’d prefer a site without a token system, but they were rare and more likely to have a poor selection. 

A soft groan drew Thomas’ attention back to reality and the laptop on his knees. On screen, Adam had changed positions, thumbing over one of his nipples with his right hand. Thomas was able to catch glimpses of it as Adam’s big hand moved over his full pec, teasing and kneading the skin around his nipple as well. Thomas’ breath caught, a soft moan escaping him, arousal pooling deep in his gut, his prick stirring in his pyjamas. 

Then Adam’s hand shot up, and he licked a broad stripe across it before shoving it into the tiny blue shorts. Adam whined at the contact of his wet hand against his hot cock. “Fuck, feels so good,” he groaned while his other hand alternated between teasing both nipples. 

At the sight before him, Thomas moved his own hands too, cautiously balancing the laptop on his knees. He pressed his shoulders into the headboard to get enough leverage to get his bum off the mattress to shove off his trousers, exposing his prick throbbing half-hard against his thigh. Thomas quickly brushed away some hair that had fallen into his face before reaching down to fist his member. He dragged his finger across the slit before sliding his fist down, squeezing tighter on the upstroke. His prick was quickly growing harder with the new sensation along with Adam’s deep grunts sounding from the speakers as he worked his hands all over himself.

Suddenly Adam grinned, presumably a reaction to something on his screen. Thomas watched as he removed his hand from inside the shorts and wiped it on the fabric before rising to his knees and grabbing the waistband with both hands, shoving the basketball shorts down roughly. 

Adam wasn’t wearing underwear. What was previously a big tent in in the shorts was now on full display and Thomas’ breath hitched again. Adam was big, his dick cut, flushed a deep red, fully erect, the tip brushing against his faint happy trail. Adam sat back down again, the shorts trapped around his knees. He grasped his cock, releasing a throaty moan, slowly thrusting up, his left arm behind his body, bracing himself. His hand moved up and down his member, grip tight and only getting tighter as he neared the tip. He looked hot, his muscles rippling as he moved. Precum was pearling at his tip again, dripping down until Adam’s fist moved over the head and smeared it along his cock as his occasional groans turned into heavy throaty breaths. 

Thomas’ hand sped up too, his legs falling open as he reached between them to play with his balls, slowly rolling them between his fingers. He’d always liked it, the gentle pressure against them as they drew up and his dick throbbed. Frantic breathy moans escaped him, desperate for release, Thomas’ thumb kept swiping over his tip, trying to coax himself to orgasm.

Adam began to swear, “Fuck, fuck, feels so good,” and “Shit, I’m coming!” as come splattered across his stomach and the rhythm of his hips stuttered and his hand stilled on his cock. With that, Thomas was done for, his orgasm warming him from the inside, arousal flooding him, come dripping down his cock as he came. His breathy moans turned into whines while he couldn’t decide between throwing his head back in ecstasy and watching Adam, Adam, who was now stroking his surely over-sensitive cock again. When the strings of come ceased, Adam let go of his cock, wiped his hand on his thigh, and leaned back on his elbows, his body shining with a thin layer of sweat. He was breathless too, his now limp dick, still so big, falling between his thigh. He slowly started to grin and said, “Fuck, this was good. I hope you had a good time, too. I’m gonna sign off in a second.”

In London, Thomas finally caught his breath and reached for his towel, mopping up his ejaculate. 

On screen, Adam said his goodbyes to his audience, and the video window went dark. 

With a shaky hand, Thomas reached for the laptop and clicked the link to Adam’s profile. Quickly, he added him to his favorites then clicked the donation box and donated 400 tokens to Adam. The streams were pay-per-minute, but Adam had been good, he deserved the bonus. He had been so good. Thomas closed the web browser and powered down the computer, putting it on the nightstand before drinking the last sips of his tea. He felt a bone-deep relaxation but willed himself to get up again to brush his teeth. When he returned to bed, he was asleep in seconds. 

 

Adam was streaming again—Thomas had watched him a few times since—the webcam capturing a different part of Adam’s flat today: there was a mantle in the background and the laptop seemed to be sitting on a hideous golden couch with Adam. He had his right arm draped over the back of it, his hand resting in his long hair. “Hello,” he said, the word accompanied by a wave of his hand. His right leg was tucked under the other and he was wearing dark jeans and a tank top with big arm holes. “How was your day?” he asked, and Thomas’ itched to answer, his hands twitching but he restrained himself, while it was probably not entirely rhetorical, most cam models asked out of politeness. It was an unspoken role to answer impersonally, ‘Good’ or ‘I’m fine,’ not the essays about his day at the toy shop Thomas longed to type. 

“I’m glad you had a good day,” Adam replied on screen, his voice a rich baritone and Thomas’ stomach dropped, regretting not having given the generic answer. Maybe Adam would have replied to him then. 

On the sofa, Adam ran his hand through his hair and grimaced. “It’s wet. Got caught in the fucking rain when I bought groceries,” he explained, “I had to get bread, ran out this morning. It sucked. And when I was almost at home the rain started to pour. I was wet in seconds. September fucking sucks.” He was ranting and sounded upset, his voice getting louder during his monologue. Thomas knew Adam rarely shared information about his personal life. Before he had watched people who sometimes spent the first thirty minutes of their show talking about their day. Adam was probably more private, the Brit concluded. 

Adam was reading the chat now, his eyes darting from right to left. A few people seemed eager to comment on Adam’s day. When Thomas read the chat too, he was taken aback: the comments were unexpectedly harsh, pushing Adam to start with ‘the real stuff’.

“I’ll start in a minute,” was all Adam said, bending at the waist to rummage off-screen, potentially under the sofa, and Thomas typed out a message before he could stop himself.

rabbit-cure: _I wouldn’t mind listening to you talk about the rain._

When Adam’s head appeared in frame again, he was raising a bottle of lube in victory.  
“Found it!” he said before leaning closer to the laptop, reading the chat again.Thomas send a silent prayer, regretting his second of confidence already, there was no way Adam wanted to share more about his personal life, asking about it was something a stalker would do. Hopefully new messages would make his own disappear before Adam could read it. Thomas had no such luck. 

“rabbit-cure said, I wouldn’t mind listening to you talk about the rain,” Adam read aloud and chuckled, “You know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer someday.” It was probably just a white lie Thomas told himself but he still wasn’t able to focus on the show after that, his mind preoccupied even as Adam shoved a third finger up his ass. 

 

It was very late Monday night in London, and somewhat late night at Adam’s, he used EDT in his streaming announcements so Thomas guessed he was from the East Coast. Adam was back on his bed again, the video wobbling as he adjusted the laptop. Thomas only knew it was a laptop because Adam sometimes closed it too far and the lower half was visible at the bottom of the window. That, and at times Adam changed the camera positions too effortlessly for it to be an external camera on a tripod. 

Today, Adam wasn’t wearing a shirt, the skin of his arms and torso on full display. Sometimes he started his shows already topless, Thomas didn’t mind, Adam looked good like that. Currently, his legs were hanging off the bed, his knees in shot still, it seemed he had removed his pillows and blankets from the bed. For now, he had his elbows on his spread thighs, reading the chat after having greeted the audience.

“You want me to get started, don’t you?” he asked, his voice not quite neutral. Thomas frowned, he didn’t understand. On screen Adam began to palm his dick through the grey sweatpants he was wearing. Even flaccid the outline was visible. No underwear, Thomas concluded and sighed, unable to take his eyes off Adam’s groin. Adam’s left hand was moving along his cock, alternating between applying pressure and barely grazing it. And Adam got hard fast, too, before long he was sporting a chubby, his cock even clearer to see, resting against his right thigh.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” Adam moaned, his head thrown back in pleasure, the words and sounds making his Adam’s apple bop.

Thomas’ eyes were drawn to it, that and Adam’s face, flushed just slightly for now, his eyes closed, concentrating on the sensation of his touch. He looked striking, Thomas thought, his own prick half hard in his pyjamas. He ignored it, wanted to give Adam all of his attention. Adam, who was bracing his right hand behind his body now and stroking his cock with new fervour. The outline looked impossibly big through the sweats, thick and long against his solid thigh and Thomas had to stifle a few moans threatening to escape him with the back of a hand pressed to his mouth. He wanted to hear Adam’s quieter groans. His head had dropped onto his shoulder, face flushed and his exposed skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

Thomas reached for his laptop, and oblivious to other comments, he typed his own.

rabbit-cure: _You’re so gorgeous._  


Then Adam groaned and a telltale stain darkened his sweat.

In London, Thomas watched and keened as he spilled into his pyjama bottoms untouched. Overcome by the sensation and with black spots dancing across his vision, he needed a few moments to come back to reality.

Adam was leaning forward again, seemingly reading to the chat. Then he said his goodbyes and ended the lifestream rather quickly.

Something about the stream felt off but Thomas wasn’t able to put his finger on it. Whatever it was had made Adam end the show early and not take his trousers off.

**Author's Note:**

> There's an easter egg to another Kylux fic in the artwork that Romi agreed to put in it.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> This was my first time writing smut in over two years, the attempt back then the first and only time and also 200 words long.  
> Please reblog the artwork (and the one for a later chapter) from Romi's tumblr [here](http://remus-sirius.tumblr.com/post/178711041040/and-finally-here-are-my-pieces-for-the-kylux-mini)


End file.
